


A man of many names

by TerribleQuestionMark



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Clay | Dream-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt/Comfort, I did this all in one sitting it's not going to be the best but whatever, I'm Sorry, M/M, Miles Memington, Miles/Cornelius, Tales From The SMP, The Village That Went Mad, actually i'm not, i just needed to get this out of my head, i rushed this, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 02:55:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28521246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerribleQuestionMark/pseuds/TerribleQuestionMark
Summary: Cornelius was a baker in a small unknown village. He looked over the golden wheat fields, observing the rest of the villagers do their daily work before the sun rose. As the summer sun began to rise, Cornelius was met with a man._____________based off of Karl's stream Tales from the SMP: The Village that went MadRated Mature because of death and a semi-graphic description of that death.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 58





	A man of many names

**Author's Note:**

> So after Karl's stream, the first episode of the tales from the smp, Dream and George decided to call themselves Cornelius and Miles Memington. Twitter said, "oh we can work with this." @MINECRAFTZA on twitter suggested this AU and I expanded on it here. 
> 
> I wrote all of this without stopping (there was like a 10 min break) and I posted it immediately. I'm literally not going to even read this thing through I'm tired. 
> 
> Do whatever you want with this. 
> 
> sorry, not sorry.

The wheat fields blew moving with the wind. The sun rose over the tree’s peakes, gently coloring the villager’s houses in a golden yellow. They were waking up, some villagers already in the fields, harvesting week. It was the middle of summer but the heat and harsh labor didn’t phase the villagers, this was their prime. 

A man sat upon a hill overlooking the village. He was supposed to go to the bakery and start making the daily pastries and loafs earlier that morning, before the sun touched the horizon, but his body wouldn’t allow him. He didn’t understand why he was drawn to that hill. It was ordinary, with a single tree growing on it. Yet, he somehow always found himself being pulled towards that very tree.

It was on that very ordinary day, the one which he procrastinated his work for the first and only time, that he met with that man. The man that changed his life forever.

“Excuse me.” said the stranger.

He turned his head. He was faced with a beautiful man. He wore a fashionable beard, a vest, and clean shoes. An outsider. The stranger's brown hair was cleanly brushed to the side, highlighting the doe-like eyes and making him appear like a boy trying to be a man. He stood to greet the stranger, remembering that the people of this time appreciated the gesture.

“Yes, how may I help you.” He towered over the stranger, seeing a sight grimace grace the stranger’s face.

The stranger hummed. “Could you escort me to your mayor’s house? I have an appointment with the village head.”

“Uhh,” he scratched his neck before lifting his other hand and pointing towards the middle of town. “The mayor lives in the red house. It’s the only one made of clay bricks.”

The brunet huffed and crossed his arms. “I see villagers don’t have much manners these days.”

He scrunched his eyebrows. “Manners? Excuse you, sir but all the villagers here are good natured.”

The brunet rolled his eyes before saying, “Good natured as hell. Didn’t they teach you to introduce yourself before a conversation, boy?”

He cringed at the word. Boy? The strange brunet looked more like a boy than he did. 

“Fine. I’ve been called many things but, here, call me Cornelius.” He reached his hand out for a handshake.

“Miles Memington.” Miles shook Cornelius’ hand, He noticed how much smaller the brunet’s hand was in comparison to him. Cornelius’ height was astounding, he towered over the majority of the villagers. The only man taller was his father, who had passed away during Cornelius’ adolescence, leaving the bakery under his name. He also noticed how strong the brunet’s grip was. 

Cornelius’ hand felt cold as they dropped the handshake. Shaking off the feeling of loss, he dusted off his pants and started towards the village. “Follow me, Mr.Memington.”

Miles followed him through town, the only talk being a comment about the lack of cobblestone paths throughout the village. Once they reached the red bricked building, Cornelius turned around to face Miles.

Miles was looking at him. Despite being shorter he carried an air of importance and sophistication. He stood with confidence and wonder in his eyes, the summer sun turning his cheeks pink. Cornelius blushed as he made eye contact. He averted his gaze and cleared his throat. 

“Uhh, this is the mayor’s house. I have to go to my bakery now, but I hope you find your stay to be comfortable.” He started walking backwards and as he turned to leave he heard the brunet speak. 

“Thank you, Cornelius was it?” Miles was still looking at him. Cornelius hopes that the heat on his cheeks was because of the sun.

“Yes,” he whispered. Miles smiles and Cornelius thought he died and went to heaven. How could a man look so pretty painted in the summer sun. His eyes reflected the answers to the universe and his smile contained the sustenance he needed to survive. When he blinked again he noticed that he stood alone in front of the red brick house. He shook his head and went back to his bakery.

Upon arrival he was met with Robin, a young orphan boy who worked with Corpse, a farmer who was practically the boy’s adoptive father. 

“Morning Cornelius!” said Robin.

“Good morning Robin. Are you here with the wheat delivery?” He moved to open the door.

“Yes, actually! I’ve got the sack right here!” Robin bounced on his feet, booming with excitement. The young boy’s energy always made Cornelius smile. He could relate to the poor boy, the only difference between them was his bakery and a couple of deeper and darker secrets. Cornelius was lucky enough to have inherited a business and to be trained enough to keep it afloat. Maybe being the only bakery in the whole village helped but Cornelius preferred to think that it was because the bread he made was good.

“Well, come in and help me prepare the loaves.” 

Cornelius and Robin spent the rest of the morning baking fresh bread. It was in the afternoon when Miles and Helga walked into his shop.

“Welcome! What can I get for you?” Cornelius wiped his hands on his apron. He noticed how Miles’ eyes traveled across his shop, snapping his gaze on Cornelius when he spoke.

“Ahhh! Cornelius! This is Miles Memington! He’s a steak connoisseur who traveled here to tell my husband, the mayor that the cows Jack was raising are in the competition in the big city!” She spoke loudly with a proud expression on her face, her arm hooked onto Miles’. Cornelius fought to keep the welcoming smile on his face.

“A steak connoisseur?” Cornelius wondered how Miles came to that occupation. It was one full of education. _Rich kid_. “What brings you to my humble shop?”

“Helga here was giving me a tour of the villagers and mentioned how there is no hotel in this village.” Miles was staring at him.

Cornelius hummed. “We don’t get a lot of visitors here.”

“I could tell.”

Cornelius furrowed his brows. He always seemed annoyed with Miles. 

“Miles, you will be staying here with Clay.”

He never whipped his head faster. Helga wore a smug smile.

“I’m staying here? Who’s Clay?”

“Uhh,” he pointed at himself, turning to look at Miles again, “Me. My parents named me Clay.”

Miles pursed his lips. “I thought your name was Cornelius.”

“It is.”

“But you just said you’re named Clay.”

“I am too.”

Miles cocked his head. He looked adorable when confused.

He laughed. “Many people call me many different things. To some I’m Clay, to other’s I’m Cornelius.”

Miles didn’t laugh. He simply nodded his head before saying, “Ah. Strange culture you have around here. I guess this place will do.” 

Helga beamed. “Ah! Thank goodness! Clay, make sure to be a good host to Miles here okay. I have to go fetch Robin. Bye!”

Both men remained staring at each other when she left. Cornelius cleared his throat, trying to dissolve the intense atmosphere.

“Uhh. If you follow me I’ll show you to the guest room. It’ll start to get dark soon so I’ll prepare dinner.” He moved down the hallway.

His house and bakery wasn’t large by any means but it wasn’t small; he would describe it as cozy and humble. It smelled of bread throughout the whole house and the guest bedroom was no exception. He fetched some new blankets from the hallway closet before turning around to face Miles.

Miles stood in the middle of the bedroom, observing his movement. Cornelius moved through the doorway, brushing past Miles to set the sheets down. 

“I’ll call you down when dinner is ready,” he said.

Miles hummed. Moving behind Cornelius, his brush past him was closer than the one Cornelius had. Cornelius could feel the warmth of Miles’ body against his back but it disappeared just as fast as it arrived.

“Thank you.”

Cornelius blinked. He looked at his right where Miles stood, looking at him. How could chocolate pools so deep exist? How was he so lucky to be ensnared in their trap, unable to escape the alluring pull that existed between them.

“Of course.” He left the bedroom before he let his impulses drive him.

Dinner was peaceful. Cornelius prepared some roasted vegetables and chicken soup along with freshly baked bread. Miles seemed to enjoy it, despite it not being from a famous restaurant. 

“You should eat the bread,” said Miles.

Cornelius tilted his head in confusion. “What? Of course I’m eating the bread. I made it myself.”

Miles gave him a smile and Cornelius thought he died again. He had only seen that face earlier that morning and he didn’t think he could live another moment without seeing it again. A small clink was heard, breaking his focus. He realized he dropped his fork.

He started blushing as Miles began to laugh loudly, dragging his hands down his face. He felt a smile grace his face and a wheeze escape. They laughed for a solid five minutes before fully calming down. Their eyes met again and Cornelius felt his smile grow wider.

Miles rested an elbow on the table, breaking all the etiquette that was drilled in him, and placed his face in his palm. The candles and lanterns painted his face with sunset colors. His porcelain skin reflected years of care and money but Cornelius only saw beauty. 

“So,” began Miles, “If everyone calls you by different names, does that mean I can call you by something else?”

He felt his smile change into a smirk. “Sure, what do you have in mind?”

Miles quirked an eyebrow. “Dream.”

He felt his heart rate speed up. _Dream_. A wave of warmth washed over him at his new name. It felt like the angels came down from heaven and sang an aria, dedicated to this moment— where Miles bestowed a new name to him. 

“Dream.” His smile couldn’t grow larger. “I like it. It’s unique.”

Miles’ smile illuminated Dream’s soul. They sat there with empty plates and full smiles. An owl’s hoot alerted them that it was time for bed. Dream chuckled. 

“Here, let me lead you to your room.”

Miles lifted an eyebrow, again. “I already know where it is.”

Dream scratched the back of his head. “Yeah, I know that I just..”

Miles’ eyes held his. 

“I just wanted to say good night.”

Miles giggled, getting up from the table and moving towards the guest bedroom. He turned around towards Dream. “So, you coming?”

Dream smiled for the millionth time that night. “Yeah.”

Once they were both settled in their respective rooms, Dream moved back to the kitchen. He had to prepare the dough the night before so that it was ready to bake in the morning. His hands moved gracefully, with skill and precision of a seasoned baker. Despite his young age Dream always loved the smell of bread. 

It was a quiet night.

That would have made it an unusual night, one that should have alerted Dream to a disaster but he had Miles in his brian. Beautiful Miles and his smile. That smile that outshone the brightest lantern. That smile that warmed Dream up from the inside. The smile that gave him his new favorite name, _Dream_. 

Dream was humming to himself when he heard it. The shattering of glass and a painful cry. Dream dropped the dough he was holding. He didn’t bother to wipe his flour filled hands, he just ran. He ran. 

He ran desperately, fear filling his veins. _Miles_. The hallways were slippier than normal. Why was there water? It was the middle of the summer, the hardwood floors should be dry. Dream struggled in opening the guest bedroom. The door was locked. It shouldn’t be locked. Why was it locked? No.

Dream slammed his shoulder on the door, not caring that he would have to replace it later. He crashed through the wood and almost slipped again. 

His eyes grew wide and his heart stopped.

On the bed laid Miles. Breathless, unmoving, beautiful Miles. His white shirt was drenched in blood and his throat was slit. The bed sheets Dream pulled out earlier were ruined, also drenched in blood. Dream looked around the room, searching for the killer but there was no sign of them.

Dream felt his knees go weak. He collapsed on the floor, sobbing. _How could this happen?_ Miles had only arrived in his village that morning. There wasn’t anyone that would have known him long enough to want to kill him. 

“Why.” cried Dream.

Dream felt his soul crushing inside him. It felt like his bones were breaking and healing themselves in his chest. The pain of a thousand stabs paled in comparison to the heartbreak he felt. Dream wailed. He wailed and cried for hours. He turned to the sky and begged, begged to get Miles back. There was no sign.

In anger, he cursed. He cursed with passion. He cursed the mayor, he cursed Helga, he cursed everyone in that village, even Robin. He was filled with rage and anger— broken.

Dream was broken. 

He crawled against the floor, moving closer to Miles. He reached his hand out to caress his face. Despite him being gone, with bloodshot eyes he was still beautiful. Dream closed Miles’ eyes and pressed their foreheads together. They only shook hands when he was still alive. They only met that morning. It was that morning.

Dream felt tears fall down his face. He hoped that the heat from his sadness was enough to bring Miles back to life. Anything, he would do anything to bring Miles back. To be able to tell him how he felt about the smaller man. 

Dream sobbed into the morning. He sobbed as Helga knocked on the bakery’s door that morning. He sobbed as the doctor arrived, solemn expression declaring Miles’ death. Dream cried. 

Dream mourned.

He mourned years after discovering that he was different. He mourned for centuries after the village went mad. He mourned for years, never forgetting Miles. His laugh, his smile, his energy. 

Dream found himself in a stumpy forest. Using his diamond sword to cut through the overgrown and violent monsters that infected it. Forests were always full of danger, stumpy forests especially. They were full of many more things than simply monsters, things that even Dream didn’t understand.

He finished killing three skeletons when he heard a cry. He felt adrenaline fill his veins as he ran towards the voice. It seemed familiar and that terrified Dream. He hadn’t interacted with other living beings that weren’t enemies in years. 

He hurried over and saw a hoard of zombies surrounding a silhouette of a man. Dream moved with practiced precision. Diminishing the group as fast as he could.

He swung his sword, cleanly beheading the last zombie. His breathing was heavy and his body was pumped full of adrenaline. He turned around to face the person who was screaming. His eyes went wide, he recognized this person.

Covered in dirt and dried up blood was a young man with brown hair and doe-like eyes. Their eyes met and all of a sudden, Dream was suked back in time when he stood on top of a hill looking into those same eyes.

“Thank you.” The brunet’s words were soft and accompanied by a british accent. He looked the same as he had back then but now they were in a different time, a different world, a different dimension. They were different people. 

Dream felt a tear slide down his face. The smaller man stood up in surprise. “You’re crying? You didn’t get hurt on my behalf did you?” The brunet moved forward, cupping the blond’s face in his palm. 

He moved his hand on top of the others, “no. I’m— I’m fine. Are you okay? The zombie almost got you.”

The brunet’s eyes grew wide and a slight blush painted his face. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

They stood there looking into each other’s eyes as the sun began to rise. The stumpy forest began to wake up with the fireflies returning to their homes and the birds chirping for their breakfast. 

The brunet moved his hand to cup Dream’s other cheek. “I’m sorry if I’m being forward but,” he wiped the tear with his thumb, “I feel like I know you.”

Dream couldn’t keep his eyes off the smaller man. “I feel like I know you too,” he whispered.

“My name’s George.” A beautiful name for a beautiful man. 

“I’ve been called many things but my name is Clay.” He snaked his arm around George’s waist. “You can call me Dream.”

**Author's Note:**

> Welp. I've come back to say I hope you enjoyed this short blurb :D
> 
> and also
> 
> follow me on twitter maybe  @terrible_pie 


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